Henry David Thoreau Quotations: LAND & WATER
Left to herself, nature is always more or less civilized, and delights in a certain refinement; but where the axe has encroached upon the edge of the forest, the dead and unsightly limbs of the pine, which she had concealed with green banks of verdure, are exposed to sight.—"A Walk to Wachusett"
Looking southward, the heavens were completely overcast, the mountains capped with clouds, and the lake generally wore a dark and stormy appearance, but from its surface six or eight miles distant there was reflected upward through the misty air a bright blue tinge from the unseen sky of another latitude beyond.—The Maine Woods
Man's progress through nature should have an accompaniment of music. It relieves the scenery, which is seen through it as a subtler element, like a very clear morning air in autumn.—Journal, 8 January 1842
Methinks every swamp tends to have or suggests such an interior tender spot.—Journal, 31 May 1857
Most men have no inclination, no rapids, no cascades, but marshes, and alligators, and miasma instead.—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers
Music wafts me through the clear, sultry valleys, with only a slight gray vapor against the hills.—Journal, 8 January 1842
On foot, however, we continued up along the bank, feeling our way with a stick through the showery and foggy day, and climbing over the slippery logs in our path with as much pleasure and buoyancy as in brightest sunshine; scenting the fragrance of the pines and the wet clay under our feet, and cheered by the tones of invisible waterfalls; with visions of toadstools, and wandering frogs, and festoons of moss hanging from the spruce trees, and thrushes flitting silent under the leaves . . . —A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers
One early thrush gave me a note or two as I drove along the woodland path.—Walden
Perchance, in the afternoon of such a day, when the water is perfectly calm and full of reflections, I paddle gently down the main stream, and, turning up the Assabet, reach a quiet cove, where I unexpectedly find myself surrounded by myriads of leaves, like fellow-voyagers, which seem to have the same purpose, or want of purpose, with myself.—"Autumnal Tints"
See two ducks flying over Ministerial Swamp.—Journal, 12 March 1859
